


We Are The Night The Night Is Us

by KelpietheThundergod



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Purgatory, Season/Series 08, show-level violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It follows the inferno. And oh, it comes so close to paradise.</p><p>Not a mountain, but an endless stretch of lifeless trees. There's whispers between them, rumors about the one who shouldn't be here, the one who is two things and therefore neither. Who is hunter, and who is hunted in return. He is a killing light. They hunger to consume him. </p><p>They don't understand. He isn't here for them, though he slaughters many. In a place where the only saints are sinners, he is chasing the divine along a river of black stones. In a place where everything is snapping its teeth at his flesh, he never turns around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are The Night The Night Is Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [androbeaurepaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androbeaurepaire/gifts).



 

 

 

 

 

_**we are the night the night is us** _

_no more no more_

_white satin_

 

_never sweet never rest_

_it's pure pitch black_

 

_we hunger fear our roar is_

_voiceless_

 

_and you_

_you will belong to_

_us_

 

 

 

It follows the inferno. And oh, it comes so close to paradise.

 

Not a mountain, but an endless stretch of lifeless trees. There's whispers between them, rumors about the one who shouldn't be here, the one who is two things and therefore neither. Who is hunter, and who is hunted in return. He is a killing light. They hunger to consume him.

 

They don't understand. He isn't here for them, though he slaughters many. In a place where the only saints are sinners, he is chasing the divine along a river of black stones. In a place where everything is snapping its teeth at his flesh, he never turns around.

 

There is one of them by his side, a monster, and it whistles while it cuts others of its kind down like there is no tomorrow. There is no tomorrow. They slow down when the human has to catch his breath, when he's drenched in blood and sweat, shivering with adrenaline. The trees itself are silent, but safety there is nowhere. This is nowhere. But hell if it isn't empty. Every bottom-dwelling nightmare is given a mouth to howl and claws to tear at him, and howl they do when he sinks his weapon into their hearts.

 

Sometimes, the human smiles when he gives them death. It is white in his dirt-streaked face. A thing of terrible beauty.

 

>

 

When the spaces between the trees stay empty for long, the man and the monster talk. There are decades between their lifetimes, and they don't always understand each other. Don't always trust each other. The monster has sailed the sea, and it speaks about it sometimes. The freedom of the wide open water, the salt in the air, the gentle rocking of the waves. The human stays silent through the story. They have traveled for a long while together at this point, and the monster has grown fond of this human. It observes the way the human looks wistful and sad while it talks, and it hurts where its heart would beat.

 

The human could get out. But he's still here because he's looking for someone. It's unusual but not unheard of. But it's not happened in a long, long time. It's a thing of the old stories. People who would walk the paths of hell to bring back the ones death took from them. Mostly, they came back empty handed or not at all.

 

The monster and the human both know of these tales, but they never speak of them. They know a thing or two about stories themselves. About discovering they are living one, and knowing the ending, and so deciding to change it. And it's a long, hard road. No promise of destination, of redemption. They know who they are and what they've done. But the silent hunger for salvation makes them stay.

 

The monster asks, after a barely won fight that's left them both bloody and beaten, “What you ever do to get sucked down here, anyway?” The human beside it doesn't stop walking, but he's visibly exhausted, and the monster is careful to adjust its step to let him catch his breath. The human looks grim but chuckles darkly when he replies, “Took the exploding Dick express.”

 

The monster scrunches its nose up, “Man,” it says, exasperated, “You know you don't have to tell me shit, but come on.” It looks almost affronted. The human laughs, shakes his head. “Stabbed a leviathan. Like, boss man leviathan. Guy explodes, disgusting black crap sucks me'n Cas right into the forest of doom.” The monster eyes the human curiously, “So angel's name is Cas, huh?”

 

The human's face hardens again, sadness briefly flickering over it before it's tugged away and hidden again. He hesitates for a moment, and his voice is quiet and edgy when he says, “Yeah, his name is Cas.” And then he sets his jaw, and clouds himself in silence again.

 

>

 

It's six of them, and they are fast. The monster grabs the first one when it comes in close, all bare teeth spitting hunger and pain, and it breaks the werewolf's neck swiftly with both hands. But there's five more, and they're good, organized. It and the human, they do their best to move quick and quiet, but there's nothing for it. The human can't hide his light, his scent, and it gets them into trouble constantly.

 

The human is an extraordinary fighter. But they're getting ambushed almost non-stop lately, and the monster has noticed it affecting the human, though it hasn't voiced its observations. There's no hiding here, no rest to be had. Now, it doesn't whistle its song, doesn't give itself time to enjoy the fight, just plows through them and kills them as fast as it can. Behind itself, it can hear the sounds of the human struggling with the other ones, can smell the human's sweat and blood in the air, hear his heart hammer away with adrenaline and exertion.

 

The werewolves smell and hear it too, and all that does is edge them on, close in on the human and try to overcome him, drag him down and tear him apart. Devour the light of his brightly shining life. The monster fights its way through to them, impatiently shoving and beating the wolves out of the way, even while they rip and bite at it in their effort to separate it from its companion. By the time it reaches the human, he has his back to a tree and a tear in his side that is quickly soaking his dirty clothing in fresh blood. He's fighting the wolves off with furious determination, but it's clear he's growing weaker, his breathing ragged and his body shaking all over.

 

The monster drags the wolves away from him, and together they defeat the rest of them, kill every single one. The moment the last one hits the ground, beheaded by the human's weapon, he sags against the tree and his legs tremble too hard for him to remain standing. The monster grips him by the shoulders before he can fall down and aggravate his injury, holds him up while the human's eyes roll back in his head and he loses consciousness.

 

The human looks wrecked, and very small and vulnerable in the monster's hold. But they cannot stay here. The monster lets him sink to the ground carefully, then inspects the dead werewolves' bodies for something to cover the human's wound with. It rips some stripes off a werewolf's shirt that is comparatively clean, then wraps it around the human's torso. The wound is still bleeding but shallow. And there's nothing else to do about it anyway. The human will live or he won't.

 

Still, the monster feels worry and fondness spread through itself when it shakes the human and he only groans in pain, his breathing strained and flat. His brow is furrowed like he's fighting to wake up and keep going, but his body wins over his stubborn soul and refuses to obey. The monster sighs, lifts the human and carries him in its arms, cradled close to its chest. The human stinks of sweat, and the scent of his blood is intoxicating. But he is also radiating a gentle warmth in the monsters hold, warming the place where its heart used to beat. The light of his soul is soothing, and the monster finds itself quietly humming a long-forgotten lullaby while it carries the human through this place that knows no morning.

 

>

 

Something is following them.

 

It smells like one of those flesh-eating nasties, probably attracted by the scent of fresh blood in the air. The monster tries to outmaneuver it, but there's no running away from anything in this place. And the human in its arms, though he weighs little, is slowing it down. Before the thing can come too close, it sets the human on the ground, props him up against a tree. It shakes him, “Come on brother, wake up, come on.” The human groans, opens bleary eyes that barely focus. He's clammy and shivering. But after a moment, his eyes become clearer though they're still glassy, and he shifts up against the tree. The monster hands him his weapon, “There's one of the maggot-faces followin' us. Maybe two. They're close.”

 

The human takes the weapon with a shaking hand, adjusts his grip on it, then takes the hand the monster offers him and lets himself get drawn to his feet. He leans back heavily against the tree, out of breath just from standing. But he widens his stance, nods determinedly at the monster, and then they wait. A moment goes by, and then they're there. It's two of them, and they're closing in fast and from two different sides. The monster feigns to the side when the first one rushes at it in trying to get past it to the human, and then it rams its knee into the thing's stomach, gets a hold of its disgusting head and breaks its neck.

 

It turns around in time to see the human pinning the other one against the tree he had been leaning against, sharp edge of his weapon nicking the thing's throat. “Where is he?!” the human hisses into the things face, lets his weapon sink deeper into its flesh, “Where's the angel?”. His arms are trembling, but he's showing no mercy, his voice flat and hard. The thing ignores the blade at its throat, spits at the human and laughs in his face. The human's shoulders tense, he makes a swift motion and cuts the thing's head off. Its body crumbles to the ground, and the human stumbles, has to hold himself up with a hand against the tree trunk, shaking and breathing heavily.

 

The monster gives him a moment, stands off to the side and pretends it doesn't notice the human's shoulders quivering with more than adrenaline and exhaustion, pretends it doesn't hear the hitch in the human's breath, doesn't smell the salt in the air. It's reminded of the sea, but the sea on days when the sky is gray and the waves cold, and the nights without stars and without love.

 

>

 

The human manages to stumble alongside the monster for a while, working to get distance between themselves and the last place of killing, but he's limping and slowing down fast. The monster eyes him warily and with growing concern, but keeps its silence until the human almost falls, stumbling over nothing. It stops, suggests off-handedly “Let's stop for a sec, could use a breather. There's nothin' around right now.”

 

The human hesitates, but then nods, uncharacteristically subdued. He leans his shoulder against a tree, closes his eyes. After seconds, he's fast asleep. The monster steps close, catches him under the arms when his knees give in under him, lets him sink slowly to the ground and lays him on his uninjured side. The human doesn't wake up. The monsters sighs and sits down beside him, keeping watch. It's been a long while since the human has had any sleep besides dozing fitfully for a few minutes at a time. He's barely ever stopped and rested since they've set out together. The monster admires the man's strength, his determination. But it also worries for him. This place isn't meant for humans, and the man is already paying for his decision to stay here instead of making straight for the way out. The monster doesn't want to see the human paying with his life for it.

 

Time goes by while the monster waits for the man to regain some of his strength, though the place doesn't change around them. The monster listens for sounds of incoming threats, sniffs the air and watches the not-shadows between the not-trees. The human sleeps on beside him, occasionally moaning and shivering. When the shaking gets worse, the monster puts its cold hand on the human's feverish forehead. The human sighs in his sleep, leans into the touch. The monster feels warmth spread through its chest again, though it can only be its imagination.

 

There are tear-tracks on the human's cheeks. The monster sits by his side, silent and watchful. It thinks of stories of doomed souls starving in the presence of trees whose fruits are forever out of their reach, of the darkness of hell and nights deprived of every planet.

 

>

 

The human is barely back on his feet when they manage to capture one of them again. It's one of the repulsive flesh-eating things again, and the monster doesn't believe it knows anything. But the human is all ruthlessness and violence again, his vulnerability and despair tugged away down deep again. Here, now, he's cold as stone and more fearsome than the creatures they're fighting their way through day in day out. “Where is the angel,” he demands, again and again, and the thing hisses in pain when he cuts a line down its chest.

 

And finally, the thing tells them, “Follow the stream,” and the human smiles, and then stabs it through the chin and into its head. The monster eyes the corpse warily when it's done. The thing was most likely lying. In secret, it thinks the angel is long dead or simply doesn't care. Or that it never even existed. That the human lost his sanity down here, while he's slowly dying and turning into something else. The monster has heard the rumors too of course, the stories of a human and an angel appearing out of nowhere, of the human killing and torturing his way to get back to the angel. But the monster has its own story that it used to believe in, until believing cost it everything it had. Stories, sometimes they blind you.

 

The monster shakes its head in regret, but it follows the human without protest when he sets out to get to the river. The human is determined to believe in his own story, and he will have to see what waits at the end of it for himself.

 

>

 

They find the angel, and the human's soul lights up like a falling star.

 

He wraps the thing up in his arms, laughing and smiling wide. And it's not the blood-thirsty one from before, this smile is all warmth and fondness. The thing, the angel, doesn't react. At first doesn't even want to come with them. And when it finally agrees, the monster sees something flickering on its face. The thing is lying to them, it is sure.

 

The monster doesn't know what to make of this thing. And it dislikes the way the human is pushing himself harder than ever now, determined to get them to the gate as fast as possible. The angel is immensely powerful, and its essence is like a blue flame in a dark cellar. It draws the nasties to them like flies, and the spaces between the trees are constantly filled by threats. They are running now, the three of them, avoiding conflict whenever they can. For the first time, there is fear now when the human fights, fear for not being able to protect this thing. This dirt-streaked angel with the sky blue eyes, whose face is impassive and uncaring. But the human stays close to it regardless, shields it with his body and stares at it when he thinks it can't see him.

 

“You think this is what Luke felt like on Dagobah?” the human asks the angel, which answers flatly and with a rumble in its voice like it's exasperated. “You know I don't understand that reference.” But the human only laughs, claps the thing on its dirty back, “Then Star Wars just got pushed on the top of the list for when we get back, dude.” The human claps it on the back once more, then pushes past it to walk ahead. The monster watches the angel watch the human, suspicious of the thing's inscrutable expression. For only a moment, it sees the angel's eyes fill with emotion like a rising wave, powerful and barely to be contained, and then it ebbs away again. The angel stares at the ground while it walks, its jaw tight and guilty.

 

The monster sighs and keeps going, sticks close to both their sides. It has heard this story before. It has lived this story before. But this place is not the sea, it's not the night. It makes you the night. The human has understood this even before the monster, has embraced it, used it. Driven by his love, he is the only one who can find the way. Covered in the blood and tears of all that haunts him, he might be the purest thing that's ever touched this place.

 

>

 

The air shifts and the ground moves when they find the mountain and the gate. It's the color of morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Poetry at the beginning is my own. I let myself get inspired by Purgatorio, the second part of Dante's Divine Comedy, which follows Inferno and precedes Paradiso. Purgatory is there depicted as a mountain with a bottom section that is followed by seven levels of suffering and spiritual growth, with the Earthly Paradise at the top. I used the description for the sixth level that punishes those who have over-emphasized food, drink, and bodily comforts and are therefore starving under trees whose fruits they can't reach. "Darkness of Hell and of a night deprived of every planet" is a direct quote from the Mandelbaum translation of the description of the third level, where the wrathful are being punished and walk around in acrid smoke, symbolizing the blinding effect of anger. Dagobah is a jungle/swamp planet in Star Wars, on which hero Luke Skywalker meets his mentor Yoda and is given many mental and physical tasks on his way to become a Jedi Knight.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [cuddlemonsterdean](http://cuddlemonsterdean.tumblr.com/) !


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